Hell and Handbaskets
by RosePhoenix
Summary: Put the gun away Wesley. Do you really want to explain to Sarah that you shot her slayer? AU after Lineage.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy The Vampire Slayer or Angel. I claim all rights to characters of my creation including but not limited to Marguerite and Sarah.

A/N Some of you may recognize this as being very similar to Arms Deals. Well that's because this is the umpteenth and hopefully final reincarnation. I come to this one with more knowledge, practice, and more time to devote. Let me know what you think. The first chapter is short because it's a sort of teaser.

Marguerite was starting to get annoyed. She'd been sitting in the lobby for nearly fifteen minutes and there was no sign of the secretary that had gone to inform Wesley of her arrival. Not to mention the whole place gave her the creeps. In fact, the whole city gave her the creeps. Even in broad daylight she could feel that Los Angeles was crawling with vampires. _Finally_ after another five minutes of impatient foot tapping the secretary came back.

"Ms. Pierce?" the polished middle-aged woman questioned.

"Yes?" she questioned

"Mr. Pryce is busy," the woman fidgeted.

"Something wrong?" Marguerite stood.

"No, nothing," the secretary said a little to quickly,and pasted the plastic smile back on her face, "but he's in a meeting with a client. If you call in the morning I might be able to fit you in next week.

"Sure," Marguerite smiled and nodded, but as soon as the secretary had returned to her desk the young woman was walking in the opposite direction of the exit. She knew exactly where Wesley's office was. It had been her hope to appear as one of the firm's many clients. If was the way he wanted to play it though...

Wesley was sitting at his desk running over scenarios in his head. Why now? Why now after all this time would his sister contact him? They hadn't spoken since he'd joined Wolfram & Hart, since he'd hung up on her in anger. Really he'd expected her to call back or for he himself to pick up up the phone and dial, but neither of those things had happened. He'd been too stubborn and she, well, he must have finally pushed her to far.

Now out of the blue here she was. Perhaps she'd heard about what had happened on the roof last week. Though he doubted that. Instead of the message on his voice mail last night he probably would have gotten a sympathy card that it had been a cyborg and not the real thing. And instead of her real name she'd used the pseudonym Maria Pierce, a name that hadn't seen the light of day since she'd published a paper on organized crime back in college.

He was startled when the door swung open, but he recovered quickly.

"It appears I'll have to fire my secretary," he frowned as one hand casually slipped under his desk. The woman standing before him probably wasn't any more than 5'2" without the heels she was wearing and didn't look particularly threatening, but he wasn't about to take chances in a place like this.

"Panic button or gun?" Marguerite asked leaning back against the door as it swung shut.

"Both," he replied bringing the gun to rest next to his phone, "but I don't think I'll be using the first."

"You're planning to shoot me?"

"Well that depends on who you are and why you're here."

"Maria Pierce. I believe I told your soon to be fired secretary that. Then again she said you were in a meeting, so unless your clients invisible, maybe you didn't get the message."

"You are not Maria Pierce."

"For a child prodigy you sure turned out dense," she shook her head, "However that's not my problem. I'm just here to give you this." Marguerite tossed an envelope onto the desk. "Don't open it here." When she turned her back to leave she heard the metallic click of a safety being released.

"We're not finished."

"Put the gun away Wesley. Do you really want to explain to Sarah that you shot her slayer?" she asked her hand still on the door knob.

"You could be anybody," he shook his head.

"Should have listened to that message a little closer," she replied. Instead of waiting for an answer she turned the knob the rest of the way and left. It wasn't until she was a block from the building that she let out the breath she'd been holding. Something told her Wesley was fully capable of firing that gun at a living, breathing, human being and if the last three years had taught her anything it was to trust her instincts. Another thing her instincts told were that all of them were about to climb into a hand basket for a quick trip to hell if she and her Watcher messed with Wolfram & Hart, but her loyalty held her in place. Sarah was family in everything but blood, which made Wesley family, which made it her problem if he was in trouble; and boy was he in so much trouble.


	2. The Forgotten Slayer

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. I claim all rights to characters of my own creation including but not limited to Marguerite and Sarah.

* * *

Mid-afternoon traffic in L.A. wasn't really any worse than Seattle in terms of the amount of vehicles, but other things about it scared the living daylights out of the slayer that was standing outside a clothing boutique waiting for her ride. One was the way people drove. She'd never seen anything like it in Washington, or even in the other 30 odd states she'd been through in the last six months. It would be very ironic if her death was caused by something as everyday as being hit by a car. At nineteen, almost twenty she'd survived a long time for a slayer, and now that she wasn't the only one, well one of three, or the "forgotten" slayer as she'd been dubbed she was hoping to breaks some records in terms of age. The nick name itself really made no sense to her. The scoobies, as they called themselves, hadn't even known she existed. There'd been nothing to remember and so nothing to forget. 

To her immense relief it was at that moment the black Sedan she'd been awaiting pulled up to the curb. Climbing in she settled herself before grinning up at the rear view mirror. Her own blue eyes reflected back at her briefly before being replaced by the green ones of the driver.

"Well?" he asked as he turned his eyes back to the busy street.

"He's got the letter," she shrugged, "and a serious attitude problem, but hey so do I. Although I generally don't threaten people with guns."

"Innocent people," she defended when he snorted.

"You're a lot of things sweetheart, but innocent ain't one of them."

"Shut up Lindsey," she scowled.

"Hell, I didn't mean it like that. Lighten up. I'm just sayin' you could kick the guys ass six ways to Sunday even if he did have a gun."

"By the way," she said straightening up and leaning over the front seat, "I can't believe you told me he was a wuss."

"I said he _was_ a wuss," Lindsey corrected, "but he'd probably changed if Wolfram and Hart wanted their hands on him so bad."

"I hate mind games so fucking much," she scowled.

"I thought you didn't like that word?"

"I don't, and I don't like mind games either. Especially the kind the "senior partners" are playing."

"Just remember I warned you how crazy this is. Messing with the senior partners is like committing suicide."

"Then why are you here Linds?" Marguerite shook her head, "You got out. Why come back?"

"And let you guys have all the fun? Besides almost everybody that was important when I was there is either dead or, well, actually, I think they're all dead."

"Doesn't bode well for us does it?"

"Technically none of them were killed by the senior partners. Gavin was turned into a zombie, and Lilah was killed by Angelus. I'm not sure exactly what happened to Holland, but he's disappeared too. At least that's what I remember being told."

"We've already decided to run with the theory that the mind wipe only affected L.A., and the memory alteration only affected Charles Gunn, Winifred Burkle, that demon guy Lorne, and of course Wesley and the family they stuck the kid with. Angel we're not sure about, but Buffy seems convinced he wouldn't possibly, "go all evil," as she says it without mitigating circumstances. I think the girl needs to stop seeing things in black and white, but that's another story."

"Faith and Willow told her about the kid yet?"

"Willow's flying into Rome as we speak," Marguerite answered, "I guess she finally figured she can't put it off any longer."

"I wouldn't want to tell a slayer something like that."

"I don't see why it's such a big deal. They'd been broken up for like three years."

"Now who's seeing things in black and white?"

"I think I already said this once, but Lindsey, shut up."

A drive that should have taken half-an-hour ended up taking a lot longer, but Marguerite didn't really mind. It gave her overworked mind a break. However it lasted all to briefly. Soon they were pulling up to two-story house that sat a hundred yards from a cliff that over-looked the majestic Pacific Ocean. Bordered by trees on three sides it was hidden from the other houses that dotted the coast.

Marguerite waited for Lindsey before heading down the walk to the front door. She knew the cameras had probably picked her up at the entrance to the estate, but she made sure to look into the video camera tucked in the corner of the entrance covering. It was of course a decoy for the real one that was just above it and all but invisible to the naked eye. The door swung open immediately.

"Hey Oz," she greeted as she stepped inside, "Anything happen while I was gone?"

He shrugged and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Come on Oz. Words. Use 'em."

"Confirmation on the flight plans," he supplied, "June's meeting Willow in New York Wednesday."

"That means Willow's only staying in Rome for what, not even a day?"

"Someone's started asking questions," said a tall, athletic woman as she entered the hallway, "Let's go in the living room. The schedule's just been sped up."

Sarah Wyndam-Pryce was forty-two years old. As the oldest child of Roger Wyndam-Pryce a lot of responsibility had been laid upon her shoulders. Responsibility she'd rebelled against, but not in the same way Rupert Giles, or Ripper as he'd been called when she'd met him. She'd gotten top grades when she was training to be a Watcher and been discreet personal life. That had been the deal with her father. She didn't embarrass the family name and he left her alone. Wesley had been so different from her. Thinking of others before himself, always wanting to please everybody. In their household those perfectly admirable traits had been the kiss of death. From the time he was a toddler she'd made it her personal mission to protect him.

"You've got that look again," Marguerite informed her.

"What look?" Sarah said as she busied herself with the files on the coffee table. She passed one to each of the people in the room.

"The one where you're getting ready to fly to England and kill your father even though it won't fix anything."

"It would give me great personal satisfaction," Sarah disagreed.

"Think we can curb the homicidal tendencies until after you've filled us in?" Lindsey questioned in amusement.

"Right," Sarah cleared her throat, "Securities been compromised. We move tonight."

* * *

asdeed- Good to hear from you again. Like this one any better? 

Imzadi- Glad it holds your interest. I removed Arms Deals because I felt like it was really amateur. You know us artist types. Never quite satisfied. Lol.

Moonjava- Glad you like it. I hope you like this latest chapter too.


	3. In For A Penny

Disclaimer: I do not own the t.v. series Angel or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I claim all rights to characters of my creation, including, but not limited to, Marguerite and Sarah.

Waiting always made Marguerite antsy. Oh, she was very good at it of course. It had been part of her training. She could sit still and silent from sunset to sunrise, but it still made her jittery inside.

Lindsey, who was beside her, was no better. If anything he was worse.

"Stop fidgeting," the red-haired slayer hissed. Then she listened for a moment. The only sound that reached her ears was the shifting of a homeless man on a bench down the street. She and Lindsey were crouched in the shadows a block away from Wesley's apartment.

"My foot's asleep," he hissed back, "What's got you all worked up?"

"You're a lawyer. Where's your highly developed deductive reasoning?"

"I was a lawyer," he corrected.

"Shut-up," she replied, "I don't want to miss our signal."

Ten minutes later a soft "go" whispered across Marguerite's mind. It was the signal she'd been waiting for. She nodded at her partner in crime and they started down the street as though they were simply out for an evening walk. Anybody who saw them probably wouldn't even remember them the next day, and that was their objective.

When they reached the lobby Marguerite took a moment to survey it, and Lindsey moved to a spot in the corner where he could see the door, but he was hidden by the shadows. Marguerite sent him a "here goes nothing" smile and pulled on a pair of leather gloves she'd had in her back pocket. The last thing she needed was to be leaving finger prints for anybody to find.

Three flights of stairs later she was knocking on Wesley's door. Considering the hour he answered fairly quickly.

"What do you want now?" he frowned. He leaned in the doorway shirtless, a gun dangling from one hand. What was with this man and guns? She took the time to process that it was older and larger than the one he had in his office, but that was it, because it became apparent that he had been drinking. His words weren't slurred, but his breath reeked of liquor. That created a problem. The drugs in the syringe she carried weren't dosed for somebody who was already intoxicated.

"Well?" he demanded when her silence lingered.

_Sorry_, she offered mentally even as one hand came up to remove the handgun from his grasp, and the other formed a fist. He made, what was, in her opinion, a valiant attempt to stay conscious, but it was futile. His world went black as she hoisted him over her shoulder.

It was awkward going as she made her way down the steps. Not because of the weight, Marguerite probably could have lifted a couple of sumo wrestlers if she had reason to, but because Wesley was a good foot taller than she was. Still, she managed to be fairly graceful. After all, not dropping him was high on her list of priorities. Sarah was going to be royally pissed, but Marguerite hadn't seen a better alternative. A concussion they were equipped to deal with; a drug overdose they were not.

Lindsey wasn't where she'd left him. She resisted the urge to curse out loud. If the Senior Partners still didn't know what was going on and weren't listening in there was the physics employed by Wolfram&Hart. Leaving a vocal imprint wouldn't be a good idea.

Not wanting to waste anymore time Marguerite shouldered open the door and headed for the nondescript mini-van parked at the curb. Opening the back she dumped Wesley inside. Just as she was shutting the hatch a noise behind her caught her attention. She automatically took a defensive stance as she spun around.

"There you are honey!" Lindsey greeted in exaggerated cheerfulness, his southern accent heavy, "I was just tellin' this nice gentleman how darned lost we've gotten ourselves."

A step in front of him was street kid, turned vigilante, turned attorney-at-law Charles Gunn.

"Oh that's wonderful!" Marguerite replied in mock relief. The gears in her head spun as she tried to think of a way out of the situation that would allow them to make a clean get away. Nothing came to mind.

"Does this nice gentleman have a name?" she smiled and took a step forward. She flicked the syringe that was hidden up her sleeve down into her palm. In one smooth motion she slid the plastic cover off, squirted to dispel any air bubbles, and drove the needle into the bare skin above Gunn's collar. Like they said, "in for a penny, in for a pound."


End file.
